


Birds

by Twyd



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Dark, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Orphanage, Orphans, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Slash, Prequel, Protectiveness, Slash, Teen Angst, Wammy House, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: Pre-canon. B and L's friendship in the beginning.





	Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a long time ago and forgot about it.

It is Halloween when Wammy brings in L Lawliet for the first time. Beyond is supposed to be in bed. They had all been called in early from trick-or-treating because of the storm, and Beyond sneaks down in the night to help himself to the left over candy. He’s on his way back from the kitchens when he hears them, and has to duck behind the couch.

He had previously heard that Wammy’s new baby had been found in a church yard. This fascinates B. He expects the little thing to have golden curls and azure eyes, and perhaps little wings on its back. Wammy’s own wingless back is to Beyond now, his raincoat shining with the weather. The little scrap of a child in his arms has a mess of dark, dripping wet hair. His eyes are closed, but Beyond can tell he has some Japanese in him, so they should also be dark. Above his head, Beyond has never seen such a strange name. Why was there no surname? And why was the ‘L’ already there, like he was born for it?

Beyond has heard whispers of the potential new child for weeks, but this thing in Wammy’s arms can’t be it; he looks no more than eight years old. The minimum age at Wammy’s is 11. Their curriculum is very intense. Lawliet would go to some other orphanage of Wammy’s and be brought back in a few years time, and Beyond would forget all about him.

It is unusual for Wammy to take interest in such a young one. He takes them in, of course, to his other homes, but he would only bring one here to show to Roger if there was something really special about him. B continues to listen but can only make out odd words. He hears ‘trauma’ and ‘malnourished’ and ‘hospital’ and ‘poor English.’ No, L will most certainly not be living here. B loses interest, and wants them to go away so he can go back to bed.

His breath catches then when dark, dark eyes open and focus on him. They are wide and soft with sleep. He is so tiny and pale that B feels sorry for him, and gives him a little wave.

Lawliet simply stares for a moment, like he has never seen this done before, but then he raises his own hand from Wammy’s shoulder and waves back. B smiles at him. Then Wammy takes him away, and B thinks that will be the end of it.

* * *

 

He is surprised, therefore, when Roger announces the new arrival over breakfast the next day. L is in fact eight years old, but remarkably advanced. B sneaks a look down the table, and everyone else is subtly impressed. It took a lot for even an 11 year old to make it into Wammy’s.

As the others begin to ask questions, a feeling of possession comes over Beyond. He saw him first. He knows his name, his real name. It is _his_ angel, if that is indeed what L is.

When B sees the angel again, he is on his stomach in the living room, bored, morose, knotting cherry stems with his tongue and lining them up.

Lawliet is carried in by Wammy like last time, but looks much healthier. His eyes are shining, restless, and they widen for a moment when he sees Beyond. Then he sticks out his tongue cheekily and grins at him. B smiles to himself, has to look away to keep from laughing. Cute. He takes another cherry and works the stem into an easy knot with his tongue. When he looks up again, Lawliet is looking worried, like he may have offended him. B sticks his tongue out, revealing the perfectly knotted cherry stem, and Lawliet’s eyes look like they may pop out of his head.

They don’t break eye contact until Wammy carries L away.

Lawliet must be very sick, or weird, or something, because he is never left alone and hardly ever out of his room. B sees him in the conservatory with Wammy, once, when everyone is in their lessons and he is going to the bathroom. Lawliet is crouching with his knees up and appears to be learning English grammar. He sits like that a lot, like he has been raised by animals **.** Neither of them notice Beyond through the glass. He leaves them to it.

Another time, he finds Wammy teaching him how to use a knife and fork. B wonders if he is slow, but then immediately dismisses the thought. First of all, he is here, and Beyond has never seen Wammy pay so much attention to a single child, let alone one that is practically an infant. More importantly, B has seen in his eyes that he is no idiot. Perhaps he is feral.

Beyond himself has come from a good home, before his parents died, but he knows others have far more horrific stories. Lawliet’s is clearly one of them. He is nervy and quiet, and B knows he will have to get him on his own to approach him, quite possibly with a bribe.

Because of all L’s supervision, B spends a lot of time loitering in the corridors before it becomes clear to him that getting L on his own has to be a night time mission.

So around 10 that night, Beyond is lying in bed with his eyes open so they would adjust to the dark. He goes to L’s room silently when his eyes adjust; he knows this house, knows its creaks.

He closes Lawliet’s door, now adorned with a bold ‘L,’ behind him, and creeps to the bed. As he expects, Lawliet is wide awake.

“Hi,” B says, hoists himself up on the bed and takes a good look at him. L is even more fragile close up; his white wrists look like they could snap. He smells clean, like feathers. He can tell Lawliet recognises him in the dark, even though he hasn’t said anything back yet. Perhaps he is shy. “Hello, L. Lawliet,” B tries again, in Japanese this time, just in case.

“Hello,” L says, in English. Wammy has probably told him to. He has a slight accent that is neither Japanese nor English. “Wammy says names are secret here?”

B smiles. “Not from me.”

“You’re B?” he says at once.

Sharp. Wammy has obviously shown him the ropes. “You can call me Beyond, if you want,” he offers generously. “In private.”

B looks all around the room. The only toys and books he can see are what he knows are Wammy hand me downs. “Don’t you have your own toys?” B asks him. “You can have some of mine, if you like. My room’s just down the hall.”

“Thank you.”

They regard each other solemnly for a moment. Beyond thinks of taking him to his room there and then, but a freak moment of his own shyness holds him back.

“Are you sick?” he asks instead, thinking of his isolation.

“I don’t think so.”

B feels his forehead, the way he’s seen adults do. It is warm but not alarmingly so. “You don’t feel sick,” he tells him. “Do you want to see my room?”

He nods, and gets out of bed with no obvious weakness, and Beyond takes him by the hand and leads him to his room.

They get into bed, and Beyond finds his torch and shines it on his toys, one by one. He finds a plush black dog in a corner that he’d forgotten about. He has a bigger, better one, and only held on to this one because it has red eyes like his own, to match its red collar. He hung on to it a lot when he first came to Wammy’s, needing something soft and small to hug.

With this in mind, he offers it to L. “I don’t play with this any more. You don’t have to have it if you don’t want it.”

But L clutches the toy to him like it’s a lifeline, and thanks him in Japanese.

B expects Wammy, or whoever, to be cross when he finds them cuddled up together in the morning, but he only laughs.

“It’s good you made a friend, L, but give us some warning next time, eh, Beyond?” He lifts L, who even in his sleep hangs on to the dog. “We thought he’d been kidnapped.”

 _He should have been,_ B thinks darkly, as L is taken away from him. _I should kidnap him._

* * *

 

A few days later, L appears of his own accord at the breakfast table. He has clearly dressed himself and is looking hungry. “Hello,” he says shyly, in less accented English, as everyone stops talking to stare at him curiously. The special one, the smartest one. He doesn’t look it. He looks ill. He looks weak. He looks about six years old.

B tugs L to sit down at his side, in A’s usual place, who is too intrigued by the newcomer to mind. L eats his cereal and handles the cutlery with no obvious difficulty, and everyone gradually ignores him.

His English improves, although he and Beyond speak Japanese together, sometimes. B quite likes this as, save for Wammy, they are the only ones who can speak it, and it is therefore a way of having L all to himself.

As L is the youngest, and because his still developing English masks how brilliant he really is, he is the closest thing they all have to a pet. Even the more stand offish kids will ruffle his hair in passing. Lawliet will be a happy child at Wammy’s, and this is what makes B abandon his kidnapping plan, at least for the time being.

He is tiptoeing past L’s room, on another of his midnight jaunts, when the door opens unexpectedly, and L’s there staring up at him. Like Beyond, L has the hearing of a cat.

“What are you doing?” L asks him curiously.

“Getting something to eat.” Although he is just one year older, Beyond is a head taller than him and feels superior.

“Can I come? I’m starving.”

“Sure.”

L closes the door behind him and puts his hand in Beyond’s like he has known him his whole life.

“Can you teach me the English words for everything?” he asks on the way down. “I don’t know them for food.”

“Sure.”

B does this quite a lot. Although there is never a shortage of things to eat at Wammy’s, he has an insatiable appetite. Sometimes he even deliberately holds back at dinner or supper so he can eat more at night, preferring the anticipated pleasure of sneaking and stealing, two arts he had perfected by now. He’d sit on the cold tiles in the dark eating fistfuls of cereal, or swiping his finger in jam, and then go back to bed and sleep like a king.

Once in the kitchen, he turns on the torch and places it into L’s cold little hands. After a pause, he takes off his dressing gown and wraps it around L, but when he tries to put his slippers on his icy feet, L kicks them off instantly. B doesn’t push it.

“What do you want?” B asks him, feeling grown up. “I can make you a sandwich.”

He looks doubtful. “I don’t know. Whatever you’re having.”

B shows him how to hoist himself up on the washing machine, and then on to the counter, to get to the highest cupboards. He gives him a bit of everything, cheese triangles, biscuits, bread, telling him the English word each time. L eats anything, everything, with careful consideration but no real enthusiasm, and Beyond suspects he is here for the company rather than actual hunger. But once B gives him a square of chocolate, his first taste of sugar, he is like a shark with blood and wants _more_ , more chocolate, cake, ice-cream, trifle, and B has to be careful because he knows these will be the first things to be missed if they start mysteriously shrinking over night.

Still. They are having fun.

“Honey,” Beyond tells him, tipping the glass jar into L’s throat. He never bothers with cutlery when eating at night. He lets L have the equivalent of a sip and pulls back, then dips his own finger in for a taste. With the easy carelessness of a mother, he reaches out with his clean hand and wipes a dab of honey from the corner of L’s lips.

“Jam.” They take it in turns eating with their fingers, replacing the jar after a few swipes. B is adamant that they can’t leave any traces. “Sure you don’t feel sick?”

L shakes his head hard. “You do this every night?”

“Most nights. It helps me sleep. But, you have to be careful. Just take a small bite of everything, and put everything back how you found it, so no-one will notice.”

L nods. He takes a grape from the fridge and sucks on it as if it were a sweet.

He looks like a little skeleton in the torchlight, sitting cross legged in his baggy white pyjamas. Wammy and the others always whisper how he needs to gain weight, yet they feed him on dry bread and soup and boiled eggs and then wonder why he has no appetite. B gives him another dab of whipped cream off his finger. They are running out of things to taste. L wants to try a meringue nest, ignoring B’s advice that it is meant as an ingredient rather than to be eaten alone, and anyway they can’t touch an unopened pack. He avoids eating more than he usually would, in case L insists on copying him and his stomach can’t take it.

They go downstairs together a few nights a week, and it’s a nice way of bonding, like their speaking Japanese. Sometimes even if he’s not that hungry, and sometimes he suspects L isn’t either, they’ll sit whispering in the torchlight, sharing careful, alternate spoonfuls of jam. L reaches a normal, healthy weight for his age but, like Beyond, he never gets any heavier.

They lie at alternate ends of the sofa reading books and Wammy, and often others ask Beyond if he’s sure he doesn’t have a long lost twin, or a child. Although they differ in age, they keep their hair the same length, are not 100% Japanese, not 100% English, dress in similar orphan clothes, have lithe bodies and, of course, their wonderful brains. Aside from B’s being a head taller and his sharper features, they really could be twins. They are like pups from the same litter, different yet the same. The staff sometimes get them mixed up when they yell at them, though it is more often Beyond who requires this of them. L is only really yelled at for dipping his finger back in the sugar tin after licking it, or nibbling the chocolate off a biscuit and throwing the rest away.

“Why can’t I have pancakes too?” L would whine, when he is given toast or porridge, while everyone else is griping for more maple syrup.

“Because the doctor says it will be bad for your stomach, dear,” Roger tells him. “We need to build your strength up slowly.”

When Roger isn’t looking, B will put cinnamon and sugar in his porridge, or spread honey on his toast, and harp, “Try this, _dear_ ,” and then smirk triumphantly at Roger as L wolfs it.

L would perch on the arm of Beyond’s chair, or fall asleep in his lap, and Beyond would smirk openly at Wammy, or whoever happened to be looking, flaunting his power. For despite L’s intelligence, and his not quite blind trust, Beyond knows he could coax L to do virtually anything he wanted. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even consider it. Beyond couldn’t harm him any more than he could harm himself.

Although L is so young, and apparently traumatised, he surpasses them all. Wammy, who is never even there, and has never been susceptible to favouritism, spends hours with him. B isn’t sure when the dynamic shifts, when Wammy decides to put all his resources into L and they all become back-ups. B is too busy with L himself to care. It’s all the same to him. He is just waiting to grow up and take L with him, if L will let him.

One thing he does resent is the power Wammy has over L compared to himself. Whatever L is doing with Beyond, he will lose interest as soon as Wammy enters the room. He will puzzle over whatever Wammy gives him for hours until he has the answer, or the perfect score, even if he misses dinner or his eyes go sore-looking and red, even when Wammy tries to gently coax him to give it up. He will sit on Wammy’s lap to be taught or read to and not even need to be bribed with sweets. He will beg the old man to play chess with him, though he, or no-one Beyond knows, has ever beaten him. If it had been any other child, B would be disgusted, but he knows L was not only found by Wammy, but that he is smart enough to recognise the protection Wammy can offer him that, as a child, B cannot. Wammy was the one to find and take L in, like a stray dog, teach him how to communicate and to do what others did, so B can hardly blame him for his teacher’s pet syndrome. Also, because Wammy is an adult, he can teach L so much more than Beyond, and Beyond cannot begrudge him that, for knowledge is power, and power is everything.

He tries asking L a few times about the church yard, and about before that, but L is always vague. Not lying, but not telling either. B doesn’t push him. Perhaps he was born the way he is. Perhaps ‘L’ is for ‘Lost,’ and that was why Wammy found him.

As L gets older and grows in talent, despite the jealousy, the other children don’t bother him, perhaps because they are used to him, perhaps because he doesn’t go out of his way to antagonise them, despite his abilities, and perhaps because of Beyond’s constant red eyes watching over him.

B teaches L how to climb, how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to stand on his head, to get out of a choke hold, the best places to hide, the most painful places to kick, and it would have gotten boring quickly if L wasn’t such a quick learner, if he didn’t turn such adoring eyes on Beyond every time he did a thing for him. B may not be able to teach him facts, but he can teach him things from his own retrospectively peaceful childhood, things he thought he would never think about again.

L’s English improves and his accent neutralises, after careful attention to how all the other children speak. B once found him squashed up in the small space between the book shelves and the wall, reading an English grammar book as if his life depended on it. By now, B knows he is also fluent in Japanese, French, Italian and, occasionally, Russian. This is the tongue that slips out when he is very tired, seemingly without his awareness, that no-one else in the house can understand.  B tries reading him some extracts from novels and poems set in Russia, from Wammy’s vast library, and shows him pictures of the majestic buildings in their dusty Atlas, but L never seems very interested. It is just another of his mysteries, like the church yard or his crouching or his strange way of holding things.

B runs into him in the hall on the way back from another of his late night escapades. “Are you all right?”

“Where does Wammy sleep?”

“He doesn’t always sleep here. What’s wrong?”

L hesitates.

“Nightmare? You can sleep in my room if you want,” he offers. “Um, you didn’t, um, wet…?”

“No!” he looks outraged, which is a relief.

“OK, OK.” He takes L’s hand and takes him to his room.

“I can still hear them,” L is crying.

“Shhh.” Beyond presses his face into his chest to muffle his sobs.

“I want Wammy. I want Wammy.”

“Wammy’s not here. I’m here. Look. Let’s go to my room. Everything’s all right.”

“I want my dog.”

It takes Beyond a moment to understand. “You remember where my room is?”

He sniffs. “Five doors from mine.”

B lowers him to the floor. “Go wait for me there and I’ll get your dog.”

He finds L considerably calmer in his bed. He takes the dog like he is hardly bothered about it, already getting over his nightmare.

“What did you dream about?” B asks curiously.

“Bells.”

“ _Bells?_ ” B wonders if his English is wavering.

L is looking at B’s wolf at the end of the bed.

“I like this dog,” L says, stroking it as if it were real.

B smiles. “You can’t have that one.”

L nods like he understands.

“Where do you come from, L?”

“Winchester,” he says, like he’s been taught to say it, or like he’s copying.

“Before then, I mean. When Wammy found you.”

L says nothing.

“Which church was it?”

He shrugs.

His mind briefly links churches and bells, and he feels a little twinge of guilt. “OK, it doesn’t matter. I just wondered.”

L is crying. For all Beyond’s bravado and possessiveness of L, he has no younger siblings and no experience of looking after others, and he is not great in situations more emotional than a scraped knee. He considers getting Roger, but then L grips his hand like it is a lifeline and thinks better of it.

L often holds his hand in bed, and he is just young enough for it to not be creepy.

He asks L about before-Wammy’s, and he says he doesn’t remember. Which is fair enough. Beyond hasn’t told him much, either. There’s no point. Once they’re here, once they’re orphans, it is like they lose their rights as children. They are now statistics, grades and skills and curves. They are initials. And for the rest of them, they are mere successors to a child younger yet better than all of them. 

* * *

 

B is alone in the garden. He’s on his back on their tyre swing, that looks far less sturdy than it actually is, with his head tipped back towards the sky. He lowers it some more until strands of his hair brush the grass, and sees L standing there uncertainly.

“Yo,” B says, regarding him upside down. L’s English is more or less perfect now, but slang still sometimes throw him.

“Want a push?” L offers, ignoring it. He looks like he wants to get on the swing himself.

“No, thanks.”

“Can you push me then?”

“You can push yourself.”

“I don’t know how.”

Beyond tips himself backwards and forwards gently with his toes. His fringe shouldn’t touch the ground; it needs cutting.

“Beyond,” L lowers his voice to say his real name, but he says it urgently, pressingly. Beyond smiles to himself. L only real-names him when he really wants something.

“Fine.”

He hauls himself up and goes to sit under the tree, surrendering the swing to L. It takes L a moment to climb up on it without help. It looks far too big for him. From his nest under the trunk, B pulls up blades of grass and explains to L how to push and pull himself forwards and backwards, prepared to demonstrate and assist if necessary, but L unsurprisingly gets it and manages to swing himself higher and higher in no time. He looks delighted and enormously pleased with himself, and Beyond would loathe him if he wasn’t so adorable.

“Can I lie back down now?” he asks, when he knows L’s legs must be tiring. L looks disappointed, but he lets the tyre slow. Beyond takes the ropes in both hands to steady it and climbs back into his previous position, nudging L’s feet out of the way. L copies him on the other half of the tyre, so their sides are pressed together like Siamese twins. He feels L’s breathing, still cooling from swinging. His fingers are red raw from holding the rope, but his eyes are shining.

“Thanks, Beyond.” He says it in Japanese, either unconsciously or because it’s one of the things that make them close.

Beyond murmurs, looking up at the clouds. His mother died 3 years ago today. He never feels good on this day.

Oblivious, L tugs on his sleeve and says, “Beyond…?” and B can tell from his tone that he’s not going to ask him why Swiss chocolate tastes better than the others, or why they’re not allowed a puppy. “What do you see with your eyes?”

B toes at the ground, swinging them gently, and doesn’t answer for a moment. The sky looks like it’s swaying. “A name,” he says, finally. “And a number. You know that.”

“What’s my number?”

B goes cold, and his dangling foot freezes. “I can’t tell you,” he says.

“Why not?”

“My parents told me I never should, not to anyone.”

“Did you tell them their numbers?”

B doesn’t say anything. L isn’t stupid, but he’s so young, had such a strange little existence so far that he doesn’t understand death, and especially doesn’t understand families. When B doesn’t answer, he hears L sit up on the tyre and awkwardly draw in his knees.

“B?”

“Don’t keep asking me about my eyes, L,” he says, eventually. He calls him L, not Lawliet, even though they are alone. He does it without thinking, not out of spite, and he doesn’t see L’s face as he says it.

“OK. I’m sorry.”

It’s late on in the year. They won’t be able to comfortably play out here for much longer without getting wet, and there are no birds above them, or singing around them. B is miles away, back in his life before Wammy’s.  

From the house, Roger calls them in for dinner. L stands up and waits. “Are you coming?” he says, when Beyond doesn’t move. His voice catches a little, and B blinks and looks up. He grins and offers L his hand, allows himself to be hauled up.

“I’ll race you.”

* * *

 

Wammy comes to find B when everyone is quietening down for the night. He has left L lying on his stomach with A, working on an optical illusion game, where he has been since dinner. He sits alone in his room, fingering the large black dog his parents gave him, the one he gave L a miniature version of. It is dark and wolf like and almost the size of L. It had been quite expensive, and B remembers hounding his mother for weeks until she finally gave in and bought it for him. He used to like to put it against his door in the night for protection. It is B’s best thing, even now.

“How are you today?” Wammy asks him. He has brought with him a plate of jam sandwiches, and even taken the trouble to cut the crusts off, like he’s L’s age. Otherwise, B wouldn’t have bothered letting him in.

B shrugs, takes a bite of sandwich. “All right.” With his eyes, his temperament, he is used to adults not liking him, but he is closer to Wammy than the others. The sandwiches are on a yellow plate with a flower pattern that he has not seen before. He appreciates the effort, but his mother would have cut the sandwiches into triangles.

“I know today is hard.”

B doesn’t look at him. He knows he is getting colder with each year that passes, but he doesn’t know how to stop it.

“L says he upset you?”

B frowns. Was that why Wammy was here? “We’re OK,” he says eventually.

Wammy nods. “You’re so good with him.” Praise is rare, especially where Beyond is concerned, and he has to fight not to let the swell in his heart show on his face. Wammy touches B’s hair gently and stands to go, leaving him with the plate, although they are technically not allowed food upstairs unless they’re sick. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

Beyond feels both better and worse when he’s gone.

* * *

The next day, Roger drags B into the kitchen by the arm.

L is perched on the counter, having climbed up the way Beyond taught him to, dipping his finger into the sugar tin and licking it. He freezes mid-lick when Roger catches him.

“L! How many times do I have to tell you!”

L hangs his head, but peers out through his bangs to meet Beyond’s eyes, who is smirking at him approvingly. L is generally well-behaved. When he did wrong, it was normally from ignorance, or forgetfulness, rather than wilful antagonism like Beyond. He also had a habit of flinching whenever anyone raised their voices at him, like a whipped dog, that made even Roger soften. B would watch him at first, wondering if it was a strategy, and learnt that it was a genuine reflex. He even did it with Beyond a few times, though for all their rough playing and his jealousy, B has never so much as raised a hand at him.

Roger sighs, turns from L, and begins to scold Beyond instead. L silently helps himself to a vanilla cream wafer from the cupboard when he’s not looking, and sits there nibbling the chocolate off and ignoring the cream filling.

“L,” Roger says, like he’s said a million times. “Please. Don’t waste that biscuit. There are children starving in Africa.”

L eyes the remainder wafer in his hands considering. “Then we can send them the rest of it.”

B laughs and laughs, and they are sent to bed with no supper. They have a particularly hearty midnight feast that night. Yes, he and L are OK.

* * *

When L is 11, Wammy takes him to an afternoon sports club. It is an attempt to both bring L out of his habit of hunching up and out of himself. Since he has been at Wammy’s, thanks to Beyond, he has become decidedly more active, in terms of wrestling, running, biking, climbing and swimming, but he shows no interest in mixing with anyone but Beyond.

Beyond expects L to come home sulking, and steals a bar of his favourite chocolate from the top cupboard to comfort him. To his, and the staff’s, surprise however, L comes back grinning with a gleaming gold trophy.

“I won something!” he said, sticking it practically up their noses.

Wammy is only interested in L’s brain, and therefore uninterested in this victory. When L realises, he puts the trophy in his room and doesn’t look at it again. If it didn’t have his name on it, B suspects he would give it away.

He takes to tennis though, goes every week. His physique improves, and his reputation improves even more so.

When L would finish everything Wammy would put in front of him, getting perfect scores in sums, in puzzles, in tests, and Wammy would turn to record his score or to tell Roger, and miss how L would raise his arms for a hug, how his face would fall when he didn’t get one. B has seen it happen so many times, it barely pisses him off any more. Wammy shouldn’t be allowed to look after children. None of them should. He doesn’t say this.

Instead he takes hold of L from behind and swings him around from under his arms, making L yell and laugh with delight.

Wammy would turn back and frown at them, at him. “Be careful, Beyond.” As if B would drop him, as if he would let anything in the world happen to him.

It is not long after this that L has his first tantrum.

Beyond hadn’t been there, but he heard from A that L refuses to answer any more sums. Wammy looks worried. Beyond thinks it is hilarious. As if L will keep it up. He gives it a day, max.

To his surprise, Wammy actually consults him on this problem. He offers Beyond a plate of jammy teacakes as a bribe. It’s not as if he would get a plate of cakes if it didn’t concern L’s welfare.

“Do you know what’s wrong with L, Beyond?”

He shrugs through a mouthful of cake. “Just give him a break. Take him the park or something. Give him a hug.”

Wammy frowns. “That’s all it is?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t spoken to him yet.”

“Well, shall we take him some cake?”

They find L in the attic, curled in an armchair. They have picked up Roger on the way, and Beyond knows L must be feeling outnumbered.

“Intervention,” Beyond warns him in Japanese. He jumps up on the arm beside L and puts his arm around him, helping himself to another cake.

“B,” Wammy chides. “This isn’t an intervention, L. We just wondered if everything is all right.”

L holds out the book he’d been working on. “I finished it.”

“Oh.” Wammy blinks a bit. He takes the book, and he and Roger look at each other for a moment. All the work is done. Roger shifts to go. “You’re sure everything is all right, L?”

“Yes,” he says.

They leave them with the cakes.

Tears come to L’s eyes. “They don’t even care.”

“I know.”

Beyond offers him another cake.

* * *

L doesn’t know his birthday. No-one does. Instead, his designated birthday is the day he was found and brought to Wammy’s. Halloween. B doesn’t know how happy L is with this, but he doesn’t complain. Perhaps he would be happy with any date. B thinks not for the first time that it would be more cheerful to be able to see this date hovering above people’s heads, their birthdays, rather than their death dates. .

“You should just pick a date,” B tells him, lazily. “Whenever you want.”

L frowns. “No. I don’t think I’d like any date. I think I’d prefer to write my birthday off completely.”

B murmurs something vague. He sees his point. All he likes about his own birthday is getting things, and getting his way more, not the attention. Still. He makes a fuss of L anyway, in his own way.

Because L is so intelligent, and they are so similar, they stay close despite their age gap. They’re both teenagers now. With his age, Beyond’s hormones kick in sooner. Which isn’t a problem really, except he has to be more careful when he’s alone, as he and L usually barge in on each other without knocking. They never sleep together any more, obviously, except by accident on the couch or the grass.

B looks at everyone more or less his age and older and thinks…things. He doesn’t look at L because L is three years younger than him, will always be younger than him, but one morning he wakes up hard to a dream of L between his legs. He dismisses it until a week later he has another one, with memories of how L would literally eat chocolate out of his hand, suck caramel from his fingers…then he looks at L and he sees that his hormones aren’t as raging, not yet anyway, he would know if they were.

Besides, he see’s L around girls and knows that he likes them. B just has to wait this out.

It is only when L starts asking him about kissing that gets him thinking. Beyond has kissed both girls and boys at this point, out of curiosity, and tends to be disappointed, though he sees its potential.

“What’s spin the bottle, Beyond?”

B is lying on his bed with his head hanging over the edge, bat like. L is somewhere by his legs, and he can’t be bothered lifting his head. He snorts. “Where did you hear of that?”

“Some of the others are playing it later. Tonight. They said there might be a black out, because of the rain. Is it something to do with black outs?” he asks hopefully.

“No.”

“What is it then?”

“You’re too young for spin the bottle,” B says dismissively, though he is privately racking his brain for when he first played, and thinks it was around L’s age.

“But what is it?”

Wearily, he explains.

“Oh.” He hears L sit up and get into his crouching position to process this better. “That sounds stupid,” he finally declares.

“Yep.”

“Are you playing?”

“No,” he snorts. “It’s a kid’s game.”

“Kid’s games are always terrible,” he says sadly, like there are no good games in the world.

“That’s why you play other games.”

“Like what?”

“You know. Our games. Sneaking around, tying up, swimming under water.”

“Oh.” He nods, understanding. Then he says, “I think I’ll still play, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Wammy says I should try and play with the others more.”

“ _Oh_?” Beyond doesn’t say any more, but he goes very, very still.

L is oblivious. “Yeah. I always thought you and Wammy were the only ones who liked me, but maybe it’s better now. I mean, I’m older,” he says, like that solves everything. It was sometimes hard to remember this was a child who could complete a PhD in a year if he wanted.

B makes a vague, non-committed noise. He isn’t worried about L. If anyone bullies or humiliates him in any way, Beyond will kill them, and this silent threat has hung over the orphanage since his arrival, that no-one but adults and seemingly L himself were unaware of.

That evening, when for once the rain is not drizzling but howling, as if the very air were alive with it, the lights go and they are indeed blanketed in darkness.

“Black out! Black out!” everyone screams excitedly.

He can feel L clutching his arm in the dark and laughing delightedly. Beyond is indifferent; it is mainly the younger ones who are excited. Kids start running around, ignoring Wammy’s tone, and B thinks he is just pulling L out of the way nearer to him just to avoid his being trampled on, but somehow he winds up pulling L by his shirt front to his lips. It is an innocent enough kiss, that lasts only seconds before someone knocks into the back of L and he treads on Beyond’s toes. B simply laughs, like he always does, and let’s go of L. That night, he dreams of black outs and kissing L in the dark.

Later, he knows it was the spin the bottle game that did it. He wanted to steal L’s first kiss. It won’t matter to L, and it didn’t do him any harm. It’s not like it would happen again.

L is 11, Beyond is 14 when this happens.

* * *

 

He plans to let it go at that. What he didn’t plan on was L initiating it the next time.

L has been quiet and off with him for several days, but B hasn’t worried about it; they are both moody, both secretive, even with each other, and he knows it could be anything from assignment pressures to hormones to poor sleep. L will open up to him if he wants.

It is around L’s 10th birthday, Halloween, when they are in the dark again and alone, that L out of nowhere puts his hand on Beyond’s knee and makes a noise like he is about to say something, only he doesn’t. His eyes are downcast but he keeps his hand just barely there, and Beyond realises.

Beyond thinks of his age, and then his own age, but only for about a second. He kisses L again, and it goes on from there.

* * *

 

They have a game they’ve played since L first came to Wammy’s. They steal skipping ropes from the dirty, outside toy bin that no-one goes near, and take turns tying each other up and seeing how long it takes them to get themselves free. Beyond is particularly good at knots, and even more so at getting free. He never hurts L, but it takes the younger boy a while to get loose. He ties L to the broken trampoline, the tree with the tyre, his bed, and he sits and smirks as L struggles.

“You won’t leave me, will you?”

“No.”

L always tends to panic about this. Beyond isn’t sure why. He has never left him, and never threatened to. It is one of those things that L seems to be struggling to grow out of, like flinching at raised voices and nightmares about bells. Sometimes Beyond will have to literally scoot nearer to L and hold his hand, to prove he’s not going anywhere, and that seems to calm him down, although it doesn’t help him get free. Sometimes Beyond thinks he will one day refuse to play, but he hasn’t so far.

“And you’ll let me loose if I can’t get free?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

Sometimes it takes L a long time, and he pleads with Beyond to help him, wrists rubbed raw and sometimes bleeding with rope burn, but Beyond never helps, never leaves, and L always frees himself eventually. Sometimes he goes off in a huff, but he never tells on Beyond, and never yells for help, although he threatens to. L often threatens to tell on him when he is especially annoyed, as a last resort, but Beyond suspects he has overheard this threat from one of the other kids and is unsure of what is actually means. He has never put it into practice, anyway.

As a reward, B usually cajoles the younger boy by letting him tie him up with even more ropes in revenge, blind folding him, binding his neck as well as his limbs. Beyond always gets free, but sometimes he makes it seem harder than it actually is.

When they play this game, B is always a little anxious that they’ll be caught. No-one will understand and will brand him a bully, and try and separate them. But they’re never caught. As they get a little older, B starts getting hard when he watches L try to get free.

L is 12, he is 15.

* * *

 

When they start fooling around, mostly making out and necking, it is surprisingly easy to get away with it, more so than tying each other up, as now they can just jump up if anyone comes.

They’d be studying together or reading books by the fire or curled up in front of the TV – the less popular one with the funny sound – and start kissing. If L ended up in his lap, or they lay down, it was time to put something against the door. They were scolded for this once or twice, as it was a fire hazard, but they had never been found doing anything wrong. They just wanted their privacy. Which was true.

They had places just for them outside their rooms. There were refurbished swing sets closer to the house, in the sun, but B and L would swing on the old tyre, the rope was too mangled and rotted into the tree to be removed properly. B is always afraid that Roger or someone will one day snip the tyre loose, but they never do. It is harmless, unseen and forgotten at the bottom of the garden. They also have the kitchen, of course, at night.

Until one night they lose it.

Roger sets a trap for them. Or maybe it is by accident that damn near everything falls from the cupboard the next time they go for more chocolate, but B doesn’t think so.

“Leave it,” he hisses, as L tries to pick up the mess. “We have to hide.”

“Wammy might think we’re burglars,” L says, as B drags him away by the hand. “He might fall on the stairs and hurt himself.”

B snorts. “He’s not that old.”

L is digging his heels in. “But, B- “

“No, L. I’m not losing my TV privileges, not again.”

They are still bickering when Wammy and Roger find them. They make them clean up the mess, pay for the damaged food out of their pocket money, and threaten to get locks for the fridge and cupboards if this happens again, also at their expense. So they lose the kitchen as a special place.

When it’s cold, or they’re just lazy, they spend a lot of time in the second den. It is aptly named because the den den has a huge television and games and enough chairs for everyone, and the sun makes it golden through the curtains in the morning and warm in the afternoon. In this den, it is small and dark and mostly full of Wammy’s less popular books. The TV doesn’t work properly and it gets too hot even in winter. B loves it. He lies in front of the fire or in a tired-looking armchair and wishes he has a dog. He has an L now, which he decides is much better. L would keep him company, flicking through Roger’s Atlas or Wildlife books or, quite randomly, a book on Asian pop stars. The lack of comfortable chairs meant L would usually squash in his lap, and the heat normally made them sleep. If someone didn’t come to get them, they would wake just before bed, when the heating had been off for hours and the room was dark and the house silent, L’s feet would be like icicles in his lap, and it was like waking in a different world.

* * *

 

They are going a little further one night – B is on top of L, slightly pressing his weight into his knees so that he doesn’t crush him too much, trying to get his hand under L’s shirt, only L keeps stopping him.

He finally draws back, smiling a little. “You know I’ve seen you without your clothes on plenty of times.”

“I know, but…” L is very red. Beyond can feel how hard he is. “It’s weird.”

“OK,” he says, and he doesn’t push it. He can wait.

By the time L is 14 and Beyond is 17, they have made it past that stage. Beyond is careful. He isn’t stupid. He’s aware of L’s age and his hormones, tries to hold back as much as he can, make sure L is content, but most of the time L is rutting against him and just begging to be touched, for Beyond to show him things, and Beyond can slow down but he can never stop himself completely.

They go camping in the back yard in the tent, all the kids take it in turns in the summer, and although they are still careful, it is the first time they can move more without worrying about the creaks.

Beyond is always terrified about the smell. He has fragranced wipes everywhere and empties his bin a lot, sprays deodorant everywhere. Even though L is older now, if Wammy knew they were practically fucking, he knows he would be at best separated from L, at worst kicked out completely.

He would be 18 in two months. Then L had three years, unless he left early, and with his progress that wasn’t unlikely. Then they could do whatever the hell they wanted.

It is therefore inexcusable that they are caught exactly two months before this happens.

* * *

 

L is furious with him when A dies. Not furious with him, not really, but for not telling. They have one of their first fights in years.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he screeches, and Beyond’s taken back to his parents

_(You’re going to die today, Mummy)_

and that had upset everybody so much that when his Dad died, he didn’t say anything, and somehow that was worse. No wonder they gave him up for Wammy.

L would have believed him, but it wouldn’t have done any of them any good, least of all A.

L had loved A. He had been his closest friend, next to Beyond, even though A had been distant with everyone for the last few months.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” L says again, like Beyond is A, like he could have read his mind, and Wammy has to drag him away.

L calms down at night, and comes to Beyond’s door. Beyond has expected him, has put his unit against the door to block it.

L knocks, calls softly for a while, eventually goes away. Beyond doesn’t speak to him for days.

“Come on, boys,” Wammy sighs the day of the funeral, while L keeps staring at Beyond and Beyond ignores him completely. “You need to be there for each other today.”

Beyond is not there for L that day. He always preferred to grieve in private anyway.

But that night he doesn’t block his door, and he doesn’t stop L when he climbs into bed with him.

“Are you talking to me now?” he begs. “Please talk to me, Beyond. It makes me feel sick when we fight. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was upset.”

“So was I.” He gets his arms around L, who wilts against him in relief. It feels good to have him back in his arms.

It’s so good, Beyond forgets to block the door.

* * *

They are of course separated so they can’t confer. B considers telling the truth, but he knows that L will protect him as much as possible, so he tells them it was just a few times it had happened, to match L’s story. A one time thing was believable enough. The grief, the hormones, etc etc.

They threaten L with kicking Beyond out if they’re caught talking, so of course L can barely even look at him. The others see that something is up, and he feels furious when he sees the staff’s looks, knows they are thinking back to when L was small and they were always together with something up against the door, thinking that that evil kid with red eyes had probably been molesting him all along.

He confronts Wammy on this. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? Just tell me, so I know where I stand.”

“Well, you tell me, Beyond.”

“I protected him all the time. I love him. I thought you of all people understood that. We’re teenagers now and we’re close. This sort of thing is bound to happen. You’re being ridiculous. L isn’t backward. He’s practically 15, not 5.”

“Beyond- “

“Has L seemed unhappy to you? Ever?”

“L has come from a very deprived background. He doesn’t understand- “

“I know that,” he says, furious. “I know all about that, more than you. But I – “

Wammy holds up his hand. “You don’t know about that, Beyond. There is no doubt in my mind that you didn’t mean to hurt L, but- “

“I didn’t!”

“- Nevertheless, I cannot tolerate that kind of behaviour here, no more than I can tolerate smoking or stealing.”

B sneers at him. “You think we’re the first kids in the house to do this?”

“Of course not. I’m no fool. But what you were caught doing was more than kisses in the closet. Besides Beyond, you should know better. I’m surprised at you. You’ve always done what’s best for L.”

“I never harmed him,” he snaps.

“L isn’t going without punishment either,” he continues. “But you’re older and should control yourself better.”

“Well, what now? Are you kicking me out?”

He’s actually surprised when Wammy doesn’t answer him.

“Really? Just for this?”

“It’s not kicking you out, Beyond,” Wammy says warily. “You’re looking into your options anyway, you know you are. I feel it would make sense to just speed things up a little. L needs to adjust to life here without you.”

B feels so sick he can barely speak. He stares at the plate in front of him feeling angrier by the minute.

“Of course, once you’re settled you can come back and visit… “

He eyes Wammy coldly, not listening. “I’m saying goodbye to him.” it’s not a question.

“Of course,” he says. “And it’s not goodbye, not really. I’m just trying to do what’s best for you two. I’ve always worried about how close you are.”

“You’ve always worried,” B sneers. “Because he’s closer to me than you. You want all his affection because you know how much money he can rake in for you.”

“Beyond – “

“If you’re so worried about him getting dependent, about him getting too attached, then why do you coddle him so much, Wammy? Why is it OK for you to monopolise his affections and not me? Not that you were ever any good at it. You just shovelled sweets down him, when all he wanted was a fucking hug.”

“That’s enough now, Beyond.”

“You don’t know a thing about children. We’re all orphans, we need looking after and you don’t love us. You don’t tell us about making friends and having families one day because you don’t want us to think like that, it’s all tests and scores and fucking data, and then you have the cheek to imply that _I’m_ hurting him!” Beyond is yelling now.

Roger would have smacked him by now, despite his age, but Wammy simply waits him out, even when he breaks one of his best plates.

“L only loves you because he doesn’t know any better. He’d love a wolf if it got to him first. But _you_ got to him, Wammy, and he’ll live the way you raised him, and he’ll be unhappy and no-one’ll ever love him, or he’ll just kill himself, and it’s all your fault!”

He stops to breathe. There is no way they will keep him now. The whole house will have heard him yelling. He considers smashing something else, but instead he just says, “I’m saying goodbye to L now. Leave us alone.”

He manages to not slam the door and, to his surprise, Wammy doesn’t try to stop him.

* * *

 

“Yo.”

He lets himself into L’s room and puts the bedside table against it. Locking up the horse after it’s bolted.

L is looking worried. “You can’t – “

“Actually, I can. They’ve already made up their minds. I’m out. So we’ve actually been wasting our last few weeks together not talking.”

“But they can’t.”

B gets on to the bed with L and lies next to him, dropping an arm around him.

“I’ve told them, I keep telling them – “

“I know. They’ve gone on at me, too. I’ve actually been feeling pretty bad about it. You are younger than me.”

L snorts. “I hate Wammy.”

“Don’t hate him, he loves you.” B is strangely calm. “I think that’s why it’s such an over-reaction. You’re so special, so important, they can’t risk corrupting you.”

“I hate being L,” he says bitterly.

B can feel him still seething, but after a while he lies down as well and puts his arm around Beyond. Beyond is surprised there hasn’t been a knock on the door yet.

“I think we’re like dogs being left alone for the day,” B muses. “You know, because we’re so young. Time seems longer. But it’s only three years at the very maximum that you’ll still be here.”

 “Why don’t you apologise, Beyond? I heard you yelling. If we both apologise and we- “

“No-one likes me here, L.” He cuts him off. L goes quiet. “My grades aren’t that good, and I’m not even trying.”

“It’s not fair,” L says again, bitterly. “If we hadn’t been caught, we could just get on with things and adjust in our own way. You’d leave when we’re both ready, and you’d be close by.”

“Mmm.”

“Wammy will send you far away now. We’ll drift apart.”

“Probably.”

He feels his shirt getting wet with L’s tears. “It’s not fair.”

“It never has been.”

* * *

 

B is sent to a halfway house for gifted children in LA. He is lonely, he feels like his lost half of himself, but he knows L will be looked after and will go up in the world. LA is OK. He’d always wanted to come to America.

He realises though that there is nothing really for him. Since L came along, they were all re-delegated to alternates. Back-ups. Copies. He has been dumped here like a dog that no-one wanted, and in a way he is free, he can live however he wants with an excellent education, skill range and contact list under his belt. But Wammy’s feels like all he has ever known. He is the back up. He will always be the back up. He misses L.

L demands he write as soon as he gets there, but B never does. He changes his address as soon as he can, and hopes Wammy cannot track him.

He knows he can, and should, write to L, but he still doesn’t and the years pass. L will be hurt if they ever meet again, but really, L is in the papers all the time, his career and his name is soaring, it’s not like he has time for missing his childhood lover.

B doesn’t need to contact L, anyway. He knows the younger man will be able to track him down.    

 Without L, he is nothing. He knew this was the case, of course, but the reality of it is even colder than he expected. He tries. He takes the jobs Wammy finds for him, he talks to his neighbours, he dates, but really, his heart isn’t in it. He keeps newspaper clippings of L’s work, his steady climb to fame.

When he can’t bear it anymore, he finally writes to L, but it is returned unopened by Roger who says that L has moved on, that he and Wammy are always on the move. He stares at the letter like it’s told him L died. Of course, this is what they wanted. They won’t tell him where L is. He’s been so stupid.

As if it matters. He and L will cross paths again, one way or another.


End file.
